


of secret angels and broken devils

by amelioratedays



Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Bnior, M/M, jackbum - Freeform, jaeson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelioratedays/pseuds/amelioratedays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaebum doesn't talk--can't talk. Jackson decides he likes it this way, where Jaebum is isolated from the reaches of others. It's hell on Earth but when Jinyoung starts approaching the older male, Jaebum thinks he's finally found his angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I don't know what I'm writing either. Unbeta-ed and written on whim.

It's just another day with the same broken routine that he lives through, Jaebum thinks as the metal doors of the lockers dig into his back. They're scaffolding red upon black and blue and his face contorts from the pain. He's being shoved again, towards the floor this time. Instinct takes over and he holds out his arms to brace his fall. It's futile, he realizes, as a leg knocks onto his elbow. He crashes, face first, and the pounding on his back doesn't stop. Neither does the whispers from the sidelines. The gazes burns into his skin. The white of his uniform turns grey under soles of the younger male's shoes, footprints overlapping into an array of patterns. Grey muddles his soul and Jaebum wants to scream—in retaliation, in pain, in agony.

 

Oh wait, he can't.

 

Jackson pulls him back up, till his collar is choking him and the tips of his feet barely touch the floor. "You’re not supposed to look at other people like that," he whispers before he lets go. Jaebum falls again, world blearing as he collapses on the ground. It's 8:05 in the morning and Im Jaebum starts his school day watching Jackson walk away from him. The bottoms of his sneakers burn into his irises as they take their steps--black soles, black souls. Jaebum thinks Jackson’s the devil on earth.

 

He walks into class eighteen minutes later, uniform disheveled and sullied. The never ending whispers are ringing in his ears and he takes his seat ignoring the blatant stares. Head held low, Jaebum watches time pass under his overgrown bangs. The teacher's lecturing on social philosophies when he feels the thud on the back of his skull. The paper balls hit him with utmost accuracy and he clenches his fist onto his seat. He doesn’t have to open the crumpled up loose leaf to know that it says, “I love you.” “What love?” He questions, and Jackson throws him another note. He ignores them all and the lump in his throat knots permanently.

 

He watches the clock hands move (it's a bomb counting down to detonation) and the hour hand approaches the stroke of noon. When the time comes, he watches as Jackson comes over with his bag, dumping its contents out on his table until he spots a small gift box. Jaebum watches, he doesn't retaliate.

 

He can't.

 

And before Jackson can hold on to him tight enough, Jaebum stumbles out the classroom door. "Thanks." He says and despite how genuine it sounds, Jaebum only feels repulsive. He comes back in ten minutes, arms full of food that he doesn’t really want to eat (if anything, it'll end up in the toilet) and he limps his way to the back of the room. He sits side by side with Jackson, sharing a sandwich and two bottles of water. The gash on his knee hasn't healed yet, and neither has the cuts on his cheek. He's a living work of art, Jackson said once while cutting patterns on his skin. Jaebum wishes the words engraved on his inner thigh turn into satanic scriptures. He wishes Jackson burns in hellfire.

 

He doesn’t mind burning along with him.


	2. ii.

The only angel in his life appears one Thursday afternoon, in the form of bandages and first aid medication. It's approaching four o'clock and he stumbles to walk straight, legs failing him and he has to hold out to the walls for support. They slip off due to the sweat on his hands though and isn't much help to his limping. There's a sheen of cold sweat lacing his forehead when he finally reaches his locker, aching fingers trying to open his lock. And when he swings the door open he's met with a few bottles of ointments and a couple of band aids. He finds them tucked nicely in the corner of his locker and he scrambles to find anything resembling a note. He doesn’t find any, but there’s a smiley face drawn on the ceramic bottle that brings a stir of warmth in his chest. And it settles nicely between his bruised ribs as he makes his way to the bus stop—carefully putting the bandages in his pocket.

 

He doesn’t actually use them, not much point to it if he’s being turned inside out every day. And with the falling leaves of autumn, he finds various items inconspicuously stashed away in his locker and desk. Sometimes it's first aid materials, and sometimes it's little snacks to make up for all the lunches he doesn't get to eat. Jaebum can't figure out who's his secret angel and a part of him wonders if his angel will disintegrate once he does find out. Because it's not difficult to see why he's receiving pity in the form of secrecy, since no one really wants to speak him besides Jackson. And Jackson’s conversations are always one sided demands and punches to his gut.

 

But then again, all of the conversations with Jaebum are one sided. Whether it's the ones where the police ahjusshi asks if he's okay or the ones where he's signing to his parent’s gravestones. There's not much conversation when the only sounds he knows how to make are gargoyle like screeches that come from the base of his throat. So it's not too much of a surprise that the little thank you notes he writes are still in his locker the next morning. But there's still a strained feeling in his heart as he fiddles with the post it note. It's his luck that Jackson catches the frown on his face and snatches the paper from his hands. Eight twenty six in the morning and Jackson makes Jaebum ingest his “thank you”. He regurgitates it half an hour later, heart and blood wretching out his throat as he holds himself above the toilet. His chest rises and falls, rib cage playing hide and seek as he heaves the last bit of the purple post-it out. It's then that his eyes roll to the back of his head and he falls back.

 

But right before his world blackens, Jaebum catches the sight of caramel eyes and parted side bangs. The Angels are here on earth, he thinks.

 

Funny. Jaebum doesn't see his wings.


	3. iii.

He wakes up to white ceilings and scratchy blankets, they dig into his skin and Jaebum thinks they're opening his wounds. It takes a while before he registers his thoughts and recognizes the blue blanket as the one from the school clinic. It's no safe haven and the clock’s ticking down again; it's going to explode. It’s not long before the door clicks open and he hears the rhythmic sound of rubber soles on tiled floor. There's no warning to his implosion and Jaebum hates how he can't even whimper when Jackson slides under the blankets, arms around him too tight for him to breathe.

 

“You can't leave me.” He says, breath ghosting behind his ear.

“You can't, you can't, you  _can't._ ”

 

And he falls into a cycle of mutters that sounds too much like a satanic mantra. He's looping like a broken record and all Jaebum wants to say is, “Stop breaking me because you're broken.” But Jackson doesn't sign and neither does he read lips, so Jaebum is opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish in a glass bowl. Except he doesn't have gills and Jackson’s sucking the air out of his lungs. The other male trailing his fingertips over his bruises (that he caused) and grazing his tongue in the crevices of Jaebum’s mouth. It vaguely reminds him of death eaters and he doesn't have enough energy to push anything away.

 

Jackson’s sucking out his soul, teeth sinking into his neck and arms bringing them too close together. Jaebum's crashing into darkness and the blanket is still slicing into his skin. He falls into a mannequin state and the younger male’s still whispering, “You can't” in his ear. It echoes until it sounds like shouting and he only wishes he can shout as loud.

 

But he can't.

He can't even whisper.


	4. iv.

Jackson doesn't desire much; he can do without friends or material goods. In fact, he seems to enjoy the solitude, void of shackles that tie him to reality. There's little thrill to the attention he gets but it paradoxically keeps people away. (He's dangerous after all.) And the fact that people scramble away at the mention of his name keeps him content.

 

But if there's anything that he desires in this world, then he thinks it's Im Jaebum. He thinks he wants to keep him forever, away from the prying hands of society. They've tried to take him away once, six years ago, but Jackson brought him back. He dug him up under piled debris and dripping gasoline, pieced all the broken limbs together. He's misplaced Jaebum's vocal chords though, but he doesn't look for it. Because he's pretty sure if the older male talked again, with that sonorous voice, they'll come and take him away again.

 

He tries to hide Jaebum's beauty, covers him in dirt and paints all over the constellations of his skin. It keeps people away from him and Jaebum is all his— _all his_. But beauty is hard to hide and Jackson finds the reds and purples blossom in a perversely romantic way. It displaces a part of his sanity and he shoves the brunette into the corridor walls one day. He pushes with too much force and he hears the loud thud of skull on plaster.

 

Hurriedly, he sweeps his hand to the others’s hair, brushing his bangs over his eyes. Oh those star like eyes. “Don't show anyone your eyes.” He says, words spilling out.

 

He continues, fingertips tracing down to the other’s lips, “And don't smile at others.”

 

“They'll steal you from me.” He says with utmost terror. Jaebum leans into his arms and Jackson holds him there. He holds him tight enough so that he can’t run away.


	5. v.

No one really understands the dynamics between Jaebum and Jackson, it’s a deranged paradox that no one can really solve. Because everyone knows that the bruises that decorate Jaebum’s skin are given by the Hong Kong male. But they also know that Jackson falls asleep during class holding hands with Jaebum, intertwined fingers hidden from view under the school desks. And Jaebum lets him hold his hand, lets him lean in and kiss him during the fleeting moments of lunch-time breaks. But Jaebum never reaches out for Jackson, ice-cold demeanor shielded by his bangs. It’s always Jackson, the aggressor, and Jaebum, the nonchalant.

 

Jinyoung, for one, doesn’t grasp the underlying forces between the two as much as he tries to. Jinyoung has always been an observant individual and he takes to his days the task of making inconspicuous side glances to the right side of the classroom. There’s a new cut aligning Jaebum’s jaw and Jinyoung swallows back the flame in his heart. He wants Jaebum to break free of his shackles. But he doesn’t, and despite all of Jinyoung’s attempt to fix up the older male—he doesn’t see the blacks and blue fading. If anything, they darken, and he stops at the pharmacy on his way home to find another set of ointment. The lady at the counter gives him a strange look as she rings up his items for the fifteenth day in a row.

 

He’s not supposed to meddle. It wasn’t his place to do so, “He doesn’t even know you,” Mark tells him when he stashes his gifts into Jaebum’s locker. There’s no note this time, and his lips fall in a slight frown. Jinyoung rolls his eyes as he closes the locker doors. “I’m just trying to help him as a fellow human being,” he retaliates.

 

“If you haven’t realized yet, you haven’t actually helped anything.”

 

“At least I’m trying.”

 

“You’d do a lot more if you were trying.” Mark says because he knows all of Jinyoung’s weak points. And the frown on Jinyoung’s face only deepens because he doesn’t disagree. He’d do a lot more if he wasn’t so concerned with the consequences of challenging Jackson’s actions. It makes him feel guilty, selfish and downright helpless. It’s the remorse that eats at his heart that blinds his senses, and the ever so observant Jinyoung doesn’t catch the muted footsteps behind him. Mark does though, but he keeps it from the younger male and only pulls them away from the lockers with a “Let’s go, Jinyoung-ah.”

 

It’s only when they turn around the corner that Jaebum emerges from the shadows.

He finally places a face to his angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't @ me...i'm deceased. this is the ghost of all my pasts and futures together picking up stock chapters from my attic....


End file.
